


Perfect Sense

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-29
Updated: 2013-09-29
Packaged: 2017-12-27 23:22:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/984853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a dreary day at 221B. Outside, that is. The rain was coming down at a steady pace, leaving the streets constant with puddles</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perfect Sense

It was a dreary day at 221B. Outside, that is. The rain was coming down at a steady pace, leaving the streets constant with puddles and the windows always dripping with the rain.  
  
It was evening, almost time for dinner. Autumn had just settled in, leaving the streets of London filled with the orange and red of the leaves. The air was brisk and refreshing when it wiped Sherlock's face. He's always enjoyed the beautiful simplicity of nature, though he never expressed it.  
  
Sherlock Holmes had just arrived back at 221B Baker Street. It had been a long day at the Scotland Yard, surrounded by ignorance and boring minds. John Watson had been the only bright spot in those long hours. At least he knew, somewhat, of what was going on.  
  
Sherlock stepped inside the flat he and John shared, John following in behind him. Sherlock immediately let out a sigh and threw his coat off, leaving it hanging off the couch.  
  
"Tea?" asked John.  
  
"Mmph." was all Sherlock said.  
  
John took his coat off, hanging it on the back of his chair, and headed to the kitchen. Sherlock sat on the couch, watching John get the tea ready. He watched John, hands as they caressed the cups, as they shut and opened the cabinets. Sherlock had been admiring John from afar for quite some time now. He wasn't really sure why; he never admired anyone. Himself, maybe, but never another soul.  
  
John handed Sherlock his cup, sitting down on the coach beside him.  
  
"Crap telly or Doctor Who?" asked John, fidgeting for the remote.  
  
"Don't try to be humorous, John, it really isn't your forte." mumbled Sherlock, grabbing the remote sitting on the ground.  
  
"Really, how hard was it to find the remote sitting right in front of you, John?", Sherlock though to himself, a smug smile tugging at his lips. Sherlock turned the telly on to Doctor Who. The two sat and watched a few episodes; there was a marathon on.  
  
The rain beating against the windows and the soft glow of the street lamps through the drizzle was a relaxing scene. Sherlock took his tired eyes off the telly and glanced at John. John's hand was cupped loosely around his tea cup, his head leaning on his shoulder. His eyes were closed and his breathing was at a steady tempo. He was asleep.  
  
Sherlock took the cup out of John's hand. Not a single twitch or movement. He was deep asleep. Sherlock stared for a moment. John was so relaxed and calm. I sudden rush of warmness came across Sherlock and made him feel so utterly calm.  
  
A smile swept across Sherlock's face. He was tired of refusing this feeling whenever he looked at John. So what if he felt this way towards another soul? He did quite enjoy the feeling, to be completely honest with himself. He always thought he was almost incapable of feeling warm towards someone else.  
  
"Well, not everything makes perfect sense."  
  
Sherlock went to grab a blanket. He set down next to John, laying the blanket over them both. He fell asleep, feeling a soft head of hair leaning on his shoulder.  
  
Maybe not everything makes perfect sense, but that's the thrill of the chase.

**Author's Note:**

> So this was my first fanfic! I hope you enjoyed it. I know it's short and not much happens but I'm just warming up to this! Tips would be nice for my next write!


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